


A Matter of Taste

by clumsyghost



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, M/M, Misunderstandings, the Food Network AU no one wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsyghost/pseuds/clumsyghost
Summary: Television Chef Octavius is forced to deal with host 'Diah when his show ratings decline.
Relationships: Jedediah & Octavius (Night at the Museum), Jedediah/Octavius (Night at the Museum)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Octavius reached into the oven, pulling out the cookie sheet. He could tell by the smell that the dish was cooked perfectly. Warm and meaty with the perfect amount of garlic. The tray was carefully placed on the counter. A knife made quick work cutting the taco ring into easy to grab slices.

“The salad goes in the middle like this…” Octavius arranged the pre-prepared ingredients in the center. “A little more cheese on top, then you’re finished.” Cheese snowed down on the browned dough with a little flourish. 

“Cut! That’s a wrap.”

Octavius let out a slow breath as the camera crew stirred to life and the bright lights above him dimmed. He managed to snag a slice of taco ring before the photography lead swept the tray off for still takes. As he removed his apron, he discreetly plated the food and held it out for Ahk, the hardest-working gofer Octavius had met on set. 

“Thanks!” The young man flashed Octavius a grateful smile before he scuttled off to his next task.

“Don’t forget; we have a meeting upstairs in ten,” the director, Wea, called out behind him.

“Right…” Octavius frowned down at the sink as he washed his hands. In his experience, meetings with the network bosses were rarely a good thing. Ten minutes. Just enough time to change clothes, take a deep breath, then panic. Lunch would have to wait. 

Eight minutes later, Octavius boarded the elevator. He exchanged a nod with Chef Daley ('Lunch with Lance and Larry!') and Chef Tilly ('Tilly’s Teas'). A few other people huddled in the back of the elevator, obviously awed by the appearance of multiple celebrities. Octavius tapped the button for floor six.

“Hold the door!” A voice called out.

Instinctively, Octavius obeyed. A blur of a man darted inside the elevator, causing all the occupants to shuffle to make room. Octavius let the door close.

_Tap. Tap. Taptap! Tap._

Octavius side-eyed the newcomer. Blond hair, black cowboy hat. Boots, not Western, but sturdy enough to sound out an annoying rhythm, toe to floor. The man turned, revealing bright blue eyes. He stared back at Octavius blankly for a moment before remembering to smile.

_Ding!_

Floor six. Octavius started forwards at the same time as Mr. Tappy Boots. Without bothering with an ‘excuse me’ or a ‘pardon’, the blond man rushed past Octavius, knocking into his shoulder on the way out.

“Go ahead first, sir.” Octavius’ sarcasm was wasted. He stepped out in time to see the man turn down the left hallway. Tugging on his shirt, Octavius turned right. Good riddance.

———

“We’re bringing someone in.”

Octavius stared down at the small pile of loose-leaf papers on the table. His head had been buzzing since phrases such as ‘ratings are down’ and ‘relevant market research’ were uttered. He understand the terminology quite well. Only too well.

He was failing.

Octavius Gaius did not fail. The concept wasn’t in his blood. He had to think about this rationally. There was a problem; management had a solution. All that was left his part of the equation: applying the solution to fix the problem.

“Not another chef, but a host to give your show a little more… pizzazz. You know, someone you can banter with,” Mr. Roosevelt continued.

“Banter,” Octavius repeated slowly. He rubbed his temples with a defeated sigh. “Fine. Who is it?”

Wea left her seat to open the door. In walked a tall blond man, still sporting the black Stetson. The man from the elevator. The very rude man from the elevator. Octavius frowned in displeasure.

“You’re making me work with John Wayne?”

The blond’s eyebrows rose with surprise. He took in Octavius’ sullen expression and crossed arms. “Remind me, what’s the name of your show? 'Obtuse cooking with Octagon'?” Jedediah frowned back as he took a seat across the table.

“Octavius, this is Jedediah Smith. He hosts 'Diah’s Diners',” Wea introduced the pair, purposely ignoring the tension. “Jed, Octavius Gaius.”

“Let me guess, your catchphrase is something like ‘this isn’t my first rodeo’,” Octavius sneered.

Jedediah laughed. For a second, Octavius saw only a handsome man with friendly eyes. All that vanished when the cowboy host leaned forward in challenge. “Well, it is now! An’ my first opponent is your high horse.”

Mr. Roosevelt beamed. “This is going to go quite well, if I may say so!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Solider PTSD reactions

He was going to hide all the spoons.

By the third day of recording, Octavius was ready to throw in the towel. Nearly every time he turned around, Jedediah Smith was there, utensil in hand, tasting and commenting on his cooking. Quite a few outtakes contained Octavius slapping the host’s hand away. Once, Jed had double-dipped.

Admittedly, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Octavius had always felt self conscious conversing with an invisible audience. But why did that someone have to be Jed? Octavius had no idea if Mr. Roosevelt’s plan to make him more relatable was working. The only thing he felt certain about was that the editing department deserved a raise for somehow scraping together any usable footage from the disaster that was Jed and himself.

Jed’s hand loomed into view. Octavius suppressed a scowl as the other man dipped his spoon into soup and reluctantly turned to face judgement.

“Needs more salt,” Jed commented.

“That’s your opinion.” Octavius reached for the cheese grater.

“An’ yer attitude needs less.” Jed turned to stare into a camera as if the audience would relate to _him_ , the annoying one. Octavius scrapped the wedge of Parmesan with extra vigor. He was going to hide every damn spoon in the studio.

Several grueling hours later, they finally wrapped. As the call for a lunch break was announced, Octavius moved quickly away from Jedediah. Ideally, he should try to make an effort to be sociable with his new coworker, but the thought drained his energy further. It wasn’t like Jed was seeking him out either.

The sound of gunfire suddenly rang out. Adrenaline rushed through Octavius’ body in a wave of cold heat. He dove towards the floor, crouching underneath the counter. The popping noise slowed, yet the chef hardly noticed. Memories flashed through his mind, recollections of deafening artillery mingled with screams and the copper scent of death.

“Woah there.” Jed’s voice was nearby. Why? What was he doing, speaking in that soothing tone? “Capone’s making popcorn in the microwave.”

Octavius kept his eyes trained on the host’s boots, struggling to tear himself away from the past. His heart hammered in his chest. “Popcorn,” he snarled, “is a culinary disgrace.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Jedediah replied mildly. “They’re good for stringin’ up a Christmas tree. And what exactly do you eat at the movies, boss?”

Holiday popcorn strings were things from cartoons and movies. Octavius had never met an actual person from this century that used popcorn as a decoration. He raised his eyes to meet Jed’s, struggling to form a comeback. Jed shook his head slightly.

“Yer alright. Just breathe. Follow me.”

Octavius took a deep breath. He matched his breathing with the blond’s. Steady. Calm. Deliberate. Hours, or minutes, one or the other, ticked by. The gunfire faded. The microwave beeped and slowly the noise of the studio filtered back into the chef’s consciousness.

“I’m going to help you up, okay? Ready?” 

Octavius focused on the tightness of the grip upon his biceps, allowing Jed to haul him to his feet. Jed didn’t let go immediately. Wordlessly he stared at Octavius, waiting for something in the chef’s expression to appear before he nodded and backed away. Octavius felt momentarily bereft at the loss of contact. Embarrassment followed. He glanced around but no one seemed to have noticed the little episode. No one was paying either of them any attention, too busy enjoying their lunch break. Oblivious, Capone was happily munching on his popcorn. Jed started to walk away.

“Wait…” Octavius didn’t raise his voice, but somehow Jed heard him. As the blond man turned back to look questioningly at him, Octavius cleared his throat. Perhaps ‘thank you’ wasn’t in the cards, but he had no issue showing a different kind of gratitude. “Would you like me to make you something? For lunch?”

A slow smile spread across Jed’s face. “Sure. Anything’ll beat the bag of chips I had planned.”

“Of course you’d eat junk food.” Octavius shook his head.

“Potatoes,” Jed drawled, “are the best vegetables.”

“Vegetables aren’t meant to be deep fried until there’s no redeemable nutritional value left. How on earth are you a food show host, again?”

Lunch went surprisingly well, as did the next episode recording. Jedediah toned down his antics and Octavius allowed him to assist with small tasks with the cooking. When they wrapped for the night, Wea shot Octavius a thumb’s up.

Oct felt lighter than he had in weeks as he left work. Crossing the parking lot, he passed Jed. The man was shoving a black helmet over his scruffy hair as he sat astride a sleek, shiny motorcycle. Octavius couldn’t help but admire the bike. Jed, straddling the machine with familiar ease, painted a picture of reckless abandonment even more than usual. Octavius tried not to notice Jed’s muscular thighs or how his long fingers looked in brown gloves.

“Night, boss.” Jed observed Oct’s gaze on his ride and lifted his chin proudly. “Ya need a ride?”

“No thank you,” Octavius replied, half-disappointed in his own answer. “See you tomorrow,” he added. He walked on towards the bus stop. Behind him, the motorcycle roared to life. Octavius was not surprised when Jed flew by him, darting in front of his path on his way out. Showoff.

Home. Oct exercised then showered, settling on the couch with a plate of leftover takeout. The TV was turned on, the lineup for the Food Network hesitantly checked. Octavius never watched his own show. He disliked watching himself, and no magic remained for him, knowing all the behind-the-scene steps that involved making a show. He hadn’t watched very many of Jedediah’s show either, and reluctantly faced a growing curiosity towards the man since they had begun working together.

‘Attila’s Appetizers’ was just ending. As he waited for ‘Diah’s Diners’ to start, Oct checked his phone. By habit, he opened Instagram. Lance’s brilliant smile filled up half his feed. It was a very nice smile (and nice body too) but scrolling through Chef Lance’s social media was a study in repetition. Almost every photo was the same: Lance’s handsome face looming above his latest visually perfect culinary creation. The comments from his loyal followers gave Octavius the shivers.

On impulse, Octavius looked up Jedediah. His profile photo was a cat. Amused, Octavius scrolled through the feed. Colorful sunrises, closeups of plants, and more shots of Kemosabe the cat made up the majority of Jed’s Instagram. A horse ranch was also heavily featured, as was his motorcycle. Octavius paused as he came across a selfie, staring at the brilliant blue eyes, crooked nose and even crookeder grin.

The events of the day flashed through Octavius’ mind. How could someone so rude act as kindly as Jed had done? He held no doubt that Jed’s attention had been anything but genuine. It was a puzzle, one which Octavius did not dwell on much longer. The theme music for Jed’s show sang out, diverting his thoughts from his phone.

If he fell asleep during a marathon of Jed’s drawling voice, well, no one had to know.


	3. Chapter 3

“Now we’ll let these meatballs marinate in the gravy.”

“Gravy?” Jed repeated, purposely exaggerating his drawl. “That ain’t the kind of gravy I’m used to!”

Octavius smiled and handed the host a lid to place over the simmering dish. He was growing used to Jed’s comments. “No, this isn’t the kind you pour over biscuits, that’s for sure.”

“Smells delicious though. Is it true Italians put raisins in their meatballs?”

Octavius blinked. That was a bit of obscure knowledge. In the corner of his eye, he saw Wea frown apprehensively. She shouldn’t worry; he had this. “Sicilians sometimes do. I personally don’t use them.”

“No raisins?” Jed slid closer. “How about a date?”

Octavius’ heart skipped a beat, his ears burning. He had spent the past week watching Jed’s show on repeat every evening. Here was the thing: Jedediah didn’t flirt on television. He was surprisingly professional. He didn’t flirt with the many and varied attractive women on the show, nor did he flirt with the many and varied attractive men on the show. Jedediah. Did. Not. Flirt.

So why on earth was he flirting now?

“A date?” Octavius kept his voice as even as he could. “Oh dear, looks like I need to step up my game. My great Nonna received an outright proposal over her meatballs.”

“Guess we’ll see when they’re done, hm?”

They chatted back and forth, navigating around each other with ease. Far from counting down until the show was over, Octavius was surprised at how quickly the time passed. Before he knew it, they were on their last break before their final episode of the day. The chef was on his way back to the staging area when he spotted the blond ahead of him.

“Jed?” The man didn’t turn around, so Octavius repeated himself louder. This time, Jed glanced over his shoulder but made no motion of recognition. The elevator door dinged open; Jed entered and turned around, staring straight at Octavius with the unfriendliest expression he’d ever witnessed.

As the door closed and Jed disappeared from view, Octavius felt a pang of hurt. All of Jed’s silly banter, his antics and grins, his… _flirting_ … Had it all been a pretense? He hadn’t thought of Jed as an actor, but apparently he was more convincing than Octavius had ever dreamed. 

He’d been tricked. Somehow it all hurt, the sting of betrayal making his heart heavy.

Fine. Two can play the game. He would get Jed back, show him just how little he cared for his false friendship. Octavius quickly channeled his hurt into anger. If Jed wanted to smile at him on camera but ignore him elsewhere, well, Octavius knew how to handle that.

Fifteen minutes later, Jedediah strolled back into the studio. Octavius was already in the kitchen, completing small prep tasks and fussing over the station setup. If the chef’s reply to his greeting sounded a little short, Jed didn’t dwell on it long. Octavius was a serious man, and the beginning of each new show required some concentration. They would fall into their routine soon enough.

“What’re we cooking up today, boss?” Jed asked once the cameras began rolling. The menu was planned out weeks in advance by specialists, but Jed rarely kept up with paperwork. He liked being surprised.

“Wings.” Octavius observed the way Jed’s face lit up with satisfaction. The bastard wouldn’t know what hit him. “Hot wings, specifically.”

“Now yer talkin’ my language. Can’t wait!”

“The Scoville Scale is used to measure the hotness of chili peppers,” Octavius explained for the camera. The editing department would do their magic later with superimposed graphics.

“Where do I fall on the Scoville Scale?” Jed wriggled a brow.

“A bell pepper,” Octavius shot back without hesitating. He snatched up a handful of the lowly vegetable, depositing them in the blond’s hand.

“Are you sure these are bell peppers?” Jed rolled with the insult. “‘Cause they sure ain't ringing!”

Octavius’ mouth twitched into a smile in spite of himself. Darn Jed and his annoying sense of humor. “This isn’t the only pepper we’re dealing with today.” He proceeded to talk about ghost peppers and Carolina Reapers. Some habaneros and chili peppers were also added to the pot for the sauce. As the names of the spicy vegetables continued, Jed’s eyes widened.

“Wow,” he spoke softly. “That’s a lot of spiciness there.”

“Too spicy for you?” Octavius asked, fully knowing the answer.

“Course not. Bring it on!”

Half an hour later, Octavius pulled the tray of monstrosities from the oven. A sharp scent billowed into the air, making his taste buds tingle. For good measure, he drizzled one last dash of homemade hot sauce upon the wings. He presented the plate to the host with a little flourish.

“I’m gonna need gloves just to handle these things,” Jedediah announced with a strained smile. Even the smell of the wings was enough to make their eyes water. The heat would be blistering. Octavius knew this. Jed knew this, but he wasn’t about to back down from a challenge.

Everyone in the studio watched with baited anticipation as Jed carefully picked up a wing with the least amount of sauce. A gallon of milk magically appeared by Jed’s elbow.

“Mmm-hmm!” Jed mumbled as he bit into the meat. Genuine tears of pain materialized in the corner of his eyes. “H-hot… but… delicious. Not for the faint of heart, that’s for darn sure.”

“I’m so happy you enjoyed them. You’re looking a bit sweaty, though,” Octavius replied sweetly as Jed chewed quickly. “Have another.”

Jedediah dropped the wing and guzzled down a glass of milk greedily. He shook his head frantically, backing away from the plate of satanic wings. “I can’t feel my tongue. We’re done right? Turn off the cameras. Oh god, I can feel it burning all the way down.”

The cameras, to Octavius’ delight, kept rolling. One crew member even drew closer, capturing speculator close-ups of Diah’s pained expressions. As the host fought to regain his composure - and feeling in his mouth - Octavius slipped out of the kitchen.

During voiceover recordings, he played off his cruelty as a practical joke between friends. It was hard to keep acting the part of jovial prankster; Octavius found himself emotionally worn down by the time they wrapped. He could not, would not, confess to wounded feelings for a fellow actor. He had no idea how the two of them would recover their previous repartee, and the thought depressed him further. He didn’t know which was worse: that he and Jed hadn’t been friends in the first place or there was little chance of them bonding now.

Finally he was released. Octavius hurried to change his clothes and scrub the makeup off his face. The thought of meeting Jed filled him with shame and dread. He managed to make it down the long hallway and out the door without running into the other man, though as he lingered outside to pull his phone from his pocket, the door clicked open behind him.

“Don’t tell me that was a rough shoot for you too?” 

Octavius didn’t even look up at the drawling voice. “Rough season.” He stared intensely down at his phone, willing Jed to move on. The host drew even with him and stood still. Of course.

“Need a ride?”

“No.”

“Got any plans tonight? You look upset. C’mon. I know just the place to relax.”

Octavius finally looked up, brow furrowed. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Yer a real suspicious guy, ain’t ya?”

“I made you cry on national television,” Octavius pointed out.

Jed considered this for a second. “It wasn’t personal.”

“Actually, it very well was. You infuriate me.” Octavius’ words escaped him before he considered them.

“Why’s that?” Jedediah frowned; Octavius felt a pang of regret at the other man’s look of hurt.

“I cannot figure you out. You’re so rude, yet at times, you’re nice. You flirt with me on camera, yet you act like a regular person when we’re alone.”

“Excuse you! When have - **I-** ever been rude?” Jed tapped a boot against the sidewalk. “Yer the standoffish one.”

“When we first met, in the elevator. You just had to get off first, like you were better than everyone else and couldn’t wait your turn. And you ignored me earlier today. I thought we had moved past being uncivil,” Octavius explained crossly.

“Earlier today?”

“During the break…”

“During the break,” Jedediah repeated thoughtfully. “When I had to go upstairs? On the elevator?”

A sinking feeling of foreboding snuck into Octavius’ mind as Jed cleared his throat.

“I guess I should explain. I’m a bit claustrophobic. An’ by ‘a bit’ I mean extremely claustrophobic. I can’t stand elevators, but the stairwell is blocked off, so I have no choice. The first time we met, I must have pushed my way out so I wouldn’t panic. Sorry. Bad memories, you know?”

“Oh.” Octavius felt some tension leaving him. He did know. “I understand now. I apologize…”

Jedediah continued to look at him, silent.

“And, er, I guess… I’ll go with you?” Octavius finally spoke, giving into Jed’s pointed look and his own feelings of guilt.

“Great. Take this.” Jed tossed a bag at the chef. Octavius caught it, unzipping it to reveal a helmet. He scoffed at the appearance.

“Where on earth did you get this? Some punk teenager’s closet?” The sleek gray helmet sported a rather tall faux red Mohawk. He ran a hand over the prickly spikes before placing it on his head.

“It suits ya,” Jed grinned.

Octavius felt his face grow warm. He had no reply to the compliment so he silently followed Jed towards his motorcycle. He second guessed every movement as he slipped behind the other man. He settled for one hand on Jed’s shoulder.

“You can hold on. Safety first.” Jed yelled over the roar of the engine coming to life. He gave Octavius’ hand a pat once it hesitantly wound around his midsection. He drove out of the parking lot slowly, giving his coworker a chance to adjust before speeding down a secondary road. A few minutes’ drive was all it took before they reached their destination: a small park located near downtown. Jedediah parked and waited for Octavius to dismount first.

“I like to come here when things get stressful. Even in a big city, nature is all around us if we know to look for it. Just like when life gets hard, you can still find little moments that get you through the tougher spots.” Jed ventured into the greenery.

The cluster of trees was just thick enough to block out the sounds of the city, giving the illusion of a mighty forest. A tiny strip of sand gave way to a softly bubbling creek overrun with smooth glistening rocks. Somehow the air smelled fresher. Octavius carefully sat down on a boulder, debating whether to remove his shoes for a dip in the water.

“Peaceful, ain’t it?” Jed took a seat beside Oct, crowding him on the rock. Octavius found that he didn’t mind.

“Indeed. This is very nice. The sun feels good, too. Sometimes I feel like a museum exhibit under all those fluorescent lights and the cameras.”

Jed shot his companion an amused look but did not comment. He leaned down to select a smooth rock from the creek bed. He turned it over in his palm a few times, testing the weight before flinging it towards the water. It skipped once, then sunk. Octavius snorted.

“As if you can do better, city boy,” Jed scoffed.

Silently, Octavius picked out his own rock. He made no special movement or gave the game any considerable thought. His rock skipped three times before disappearing underwater.

Jed groaned and reclined back on the rock, closing his eyes against the sun. “Not everyone has the golden touch like you.”

“What do you mean?” Octavius allowed his eye to wander downwards from Jed’s face. He looked so relaxed, so close. During the entire motorcycle ride, all he could think of was the feel of Jedediah’s body in his arms. Well, arm.

Jed ticked off his fingers. “Successful military career. Successful cooking show. Successful rock skipper.”

“That middle one is questionable,” Octavius muttered. At the blond’s confused look, he elaborated. “Did the execs not explain why you were guest starring on my show? Apparently my ratings aren’t where they need to be, so they had to call someone in to liven things up. I understand why though. I don’t have the warmest personality….”

“Yer warm enough.” Jed opened one eye and smiled. “True, you aren’t the most outgoing guy, but yer not exactly a cold fish either.”

“Thanks,” Octavius replied dryly. “I’ll add that to my resume.”

Jed laughed, easy and deep. “More importantly, yer a good guy. You always thank your cleaning crew. Not a lot of celebrity chefs or even regular people do that. I know from experience. So I knew somewhere beneath your stiff manner, yer decent.”

Such kind words hurt. Octavius could not accept them in the light of recent events. How in the world did Jedediah think well of him after the stunt he had pulled? “Even if I horribly misjudge my host after he helped me in my own moment of panic without ridicule?”

“Even then.” Jed was still smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners. Octavius’ heart lurched. His eyes trailed down to Jed’s mouth. His lips looked perfect and oh so close. They were growing closer, somehow.

Hardly aware of his actions, Octavius leaned down, capturing Jed’s mouth against his own. Perfect. Warm, chapped. Tingly and….

…and no, this wasn’t right -

Jed was turning away.

Octavius quickly backpedaled. He began to stumble through apologies, grasping at excuses. His face was too hot, his stomach in painful knots. He hardly knew what he said. He wished he could spontaneously disappear. He felt seventeen again, foolish, horrifyingly wrong, and out of his depth.

“Hey now. No need for that.” Jed’s touch on his face silenced Octavius’ panicked words. He took in the other man’s expression, calm, warm - not angry or upset. Octavius sucked in a breath as Jed’s thumb gently brushed over his bottom lip. “Sorry… those wings did a number on me, that’s all.”

“Oh.” That would explain most of the tingle. “Um. Did I apologize for that already?”

“You can make it up to me later, when I can properly feel my mouth again,” Jed replied with a wink.

There in the park that day, little did the two men know what joys awaited their future: birthdays and anniversaries and all manner of special occasions shared between them, celebrated with…… wings.


End file.
